


Six Little Words

by Misty_Endings



Series: Stories of Our Love [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bottom Bard, Cuz it's my story and I can do that, Fluff, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Bard, POV Thranduil, Romance, Sex, Smut, Though Bard gets up there technically, Top Thranduil, making stuff up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4327161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misty_Endings/pseuds/Misty_Endings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If they had their way, all their stories would end falling into embrace and joining as one.  Physical love usually was a conclusion in these types of romantic tales (a delightful one at that).  Yet sometimes it could be so passionate and memorable that it stood a story all its own with a beginning one would never forget.  Bard and Thranduil certainly would always remember that tale...</p><p>AKA my interpretation of their first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bard POV

_If they had their way, all their stories would end falling into embrace and joining as one.  Physical love usually was a conclusion in these types of romantic tales (a delightful one at that).  Yet sometimes it could be so passionate and memorable that it stood a story all its own with a beginning one would never forget.  Bard and Thranduil certainly would always remember that tale..._

 

 

“I desire to lie with you.” 

They were the first six words Thranduil spoke to Bard when the room emptied, leaving them alone behind closed doors.   They were also the last six little words Bard expected to abruptly hear from him across the low table that separated them in the heated chamber.  More so to be said within the mountain of the Dwarf city of Erebor!  They were spoken in Thranduil’s characteristically deep tone but presented plainly as if commenting on the lovely, winter day.  All it took were those six little words from him to make Bard forget the print on the parchment of whatever agreement they were discussing only moments ago.  Clearly they were done for the meantime with relations of a political nature.  When Bard’s hazel eyes darted up to signal he had his full attention, they met with Thranduil’s.  The blue with the unique specks of light caged in them were the brightest trappings in the room and studied him for response.  If the Elvenking had expected the man to dismiss those six little words, he was wrong.  Bard couldn’t imagine he would hear anything better the rest of the day that would rival this.

The elf had come to the city in full regalia and there was no denying he looked exquisite.  The large wooden crown upon his head was bare of decoration for the approaching winter season, appearing to weigh nothing to him by how tall he stood.  Light from the hearth’s fires in the room brought out the sheen from the fabric of his black robes and casted an orange glow against the paleness of his skin and hair.  He was sure Thranduil had adorned himself to state his importance in the presence of the Dwarves; however, his face showed more interest now than the entire meeting, and with the start of this conversation Bard was made to wonder if partially – if not fully – it was to impress him personally.  Attractive as he appeared, Thranduil could have said the same six little words while wearing rags and he still would have been ensnared by them.

The very first thought that went through Bard’s head was that he was glad Dain Ironfoot and the rest of his fellow dwarves excused themselves for an afternoon meal, taking Bard’s little retinue along and Thranduil dismissing his two aides with them.  Well, perhaps not the _first_ thought, but the first that could be formed into a coherent sentence nonetheless (and added gratefulness that he himself had not been hungry for red meats and ale).   The second thought was it’s about damn time. 

“Your choice of venue for discussion is odd on this matter,” commented Bard once he found his tongue, trying not to give into being overanxious.  “Not to say I’m complaining about the topic.”

Similar thought appeared to be shared by the Elvenking, who eyed the walls of dark stone unhappily.  “This place is not… ideal—“

“ _Ideal_ ?” Bard interjected; surprise by his choice of word that wasn’t filled with Thranduil’s usual vile contempt for the housing of his host.  “Ha!  You _have_ been acting on your best behavior while you’ve been here!  I was already impressed that you withheld comeback when Dain called you ‘Your Treeship’.”

The reminder of the jab only caused Thranduil to grimace like he was itching to retaliate even now.  “Well I do that for your benefit more than his.  Having you alone appears to elude me at every turn as of late, so I have to accept whatever opportunity given, even if it is here.  I do understand.  Your responsibilities have been to the safety of your people, strengthening your relationships with the dwarves in rebuilding Dale and raising your family.  For this I have been patient.”

The soles of his boots did not make the slightest noise on the stone floor beneath him as Thranduil began his travels alongside the long length of table, but Bard could hear the faintest rustle from his robes.  “But I surmise you are at a healthy point in all three to afford time and my longing to experience you has become greater each day in my mind.  I tire of wondering.”

Their closeness came from allying in war and kingdoms and their feelings grew exponentially in the months since.  Why the practically ageless being had sole interest in a mortal like him was baffling, yet Bard was feeling flattered and empowered to know he had come to hold such dominion in his thoughts.  It was certainly mutual.  His direction was clear and Bard matched the slow pace of his steps.  “Our exchanges of letters have been nice, but lately they do constantly remind me of the absence of your presence.”

“Oh?”  The tips of his long fingers ghosted over the table.  “What imagines have I caused?”

_Those fingers – those hands –  touching me instead of my own_ , he thought.  That the paleness of your skin would look lovely marked.  _Discovering what weakens all that strength I have felt beneath your clothes_ ?  _How beautiful you must be out of them as you are in them.  How elegant do you stay when you are coming undone?_ Bard smirked at Thranduil’s attempt to make him say this aloud but, as he rounded the corner to meet him, all he allowed him was, “Much.  Enough.”

“So we are in mutual thought,” Thranduil summed.   The admission made Bard want to throw Thranduil’s own question back at him.  How eloquent would be his answer?  How lecherous?  Bard second guessed being so purposely vague for Thranduil would surely never share his now.  _Damn…_

He stopped so close to Bard that there was only a sliver of space between them, lording the few extra inches of height he had over the man that Bard was forced to tilt back his head to look up.  Thranduil took that as invitation to lean into the remaining space, pressing a soft kiss to his lips; too chaste and too brief given the nature of the subject.  “Then let us seek end to the wait.”

They never unlocked eyes and a wild notion came to Bard’s mind as Thranduil continued to study him intensely.   “Here?!” he questioned with a stern point of his finger.

“Would not the table be too uncomfortable?” 

Bard realized where his finger was _exactly_ pointing and he rolled his eyes when Thranduil’s smug expression appeared.  “You’re having a go at me.  I meant within the mountain, not literally th—“

“I would _not_ take you in this horrid tomb of a city,” he scoffed.  His dark eyebrows rose as he considered a thought.  “At least not on our first coupling.”

It made Bard laugh.  Bard couldn’t chastise his slip back into insulting his host when his other words were more prominent in his mind.  He leaned back against the table, not able to differentiate between his excitement and nervousness.  He took hold of Thranduil’s wrist.  “Come back to Dale with me.  Tonight.”

“I cannot.”

“I don’t believe you,” Bard said.  “You are The Elvenking.  No – greater point – you are _Thranduil_ .  There is little you cannot do.  You are the type that says what wants and does as he pleases.  And I think I am both those things.”  Thranduil smiled.  “So don’t say _I cannot_ when you mean _I will not_.”

“But it is I cannot as much as I will not,” he answered.  “Because you must come to The Greenwood.”

_Elves and their riddles!_  Bard sighed heavily and let his forehead fall against his chest.  He smelled of juniper.  It was enticing on him.  Enticing was not making matters better.  “You are maddening.  All this talk of losing patience yet you would extend the wait?”

“You know as well as I that if I suddenly came to Dale tonight, we would have little peace from others and their gossip come the dawn,” he said, stroking a hand into Bard’s dark hair.  Even such a little touch felt good…

“I was a smuggler once you know,” Bard pointed out.  “Leave the crown and the giant elk behind and I’ll make sure no one ever notices you are there.”

“And the children?”

“They would be thrilled to see you.”

“And I them,” he said, “but I do not want to be like a thief in the night nor a secret, exciting as that is.”

He was right.  Bard knew it.  Didn’t make accepting it any easier.  He extracted Thranduil’s hand from his hair and looked up at him.  “So… The Greenwood, huh?”

Thranduil grinned at his weak response.  “If you come to the forest mountain, I will neither have to vie for your attention nor see you distracted from our bed.”

“Our bed…” Bard repeated happily, liking the sound said aloud.  Thranduil did not protest when Bard’s hands strategically moved to his hips and his stance widened to allow him to come a little closer.

“Yes and the wait to see me in it will depend on you,” he teased. 

_And to be with you in it and touch you in it…_ There wasn’t any reason for Bard to argue over the locale or his logic.  Yet as lovely as the picture he was painting was, he couldn’t allow himself to get so lost in passion to forget his responsibility to his children.  They were enamored with Thranduil and very accepting of their relationship; good-natured souls who, as his eldest daughter Sigrid put it, were happy that there was someone dedicated to worrying about Da for a change.  He always made time for his children even in his busiest of days and could not fathom parting for an extended stay away from them.  Besides, as much as Sigrid might understand, he would never hear the end of Bain’s complaints about him not practicing with the soldiers on the King’s training grounds or his little girl Tilda’s disappointment that she wasn’t coming on his first visit to “the city with the pretty Elves.” 

“I have yet to see your home.  It would behoove me for a stay,” he agreed.  “But I can’t just follow you from here without seeing my children.  I have to return to Dale first and make preparations.  Then I will come to you.  And we can have Tauriel, Merenor and Percy escort the children a couple days later.”

Thranduil nodded.  “Acceptable terms.”

“You don’t have to make it sound like one of these agreements,” Bard bemoaned, gesturing to the neglected papers on the table.  “There can’t be ceremony just to bed me!”

“To me there is,” Thranduil remarked, taking his hand and holding it against his chest.  “By bedding you I am declaring to my people that you are _Brannon nîn_.”

It wasn’t the first time Bard heard “My Lord” said in Sindarin.  The Elves in Thranduil’s company had said it of-and-to their King many times.  In the common tongue they respectively addressed Bard as “Lord” as well.  Why saying it in Sindarin should hold any more meaning didn’t make sense.

But as he felt Thranduil’s heart within his chest, each beat strong and sure without doubt, it suddenly did.  In the past, whenever Thranduil spoke of his departed wife, he rarely spoke her name.  He always called her, “My Lady.” 

Bard’s eyes went wide.  “Thranduil…”

“It is only a title of mere formality to the Elves of The Greenwood, understanding that I have exalted you in my heart,” he explained as if he was trying to minimize some blow for Bard’s benefit.  “It does not have to mean anything to you.  You are not Elf-kind and the other Elven Lords and Ladies of Middle Earth will certainly never recognize you as such.  They would say your mortality was obvious proof that our union cannot be permanent and that I am a fool to not see it the same.”

“Then why would **you** recognize me as such?”

“Because **I** recognize the living you and all the good you are in this world,” he stated.  “ _Brannon nîn_ or no to others, to me you will always be _Meleth nîn_ – My Love.  That title holds more meaning to me than Bowman or Dragonslayer or King.  I _must_ bestow it to you in my own kingdom.”

Bard finally understood the real reason why Thranduil refused to come with him to Dale.  He wasn’t trying to dictate or dominate.  He was honoring them both.  As exciting as those six little words that brought them to this moment had been, hearing Thranduil bare his heart trumped all.  Bard slipped his hand from his hold and guided it around to the nape of Thranduil’s neck.  “You _are_ a fool if you could say something so moving and think it wouldn’t mean anything to me.”

Down he pulled his head, meeting his lips eagerly.  Arms embraced Bard tightly against the chest before him.  He let Thranduil kiss him until they were breathless and smiled when he rested his forehead against his.

“Don’t wear the crown the next time I’m with you,” Bard requested.  “I keep thinking a stag is about to head-butt me.”

Thranduil hummed amused.  “You give me orders?”

“So questions the elf who has planned everything else,” Bard said.  “Does declaring me _Brannon nîn_ not warrant me even this request from you?”

“Actually it warrants a great deal,” he answered.  “It is my responsibility to see you satisfied upon my first time with you.  It is my desire and we shall have more than a single experience of pleasure shared.   There is much to discover between us.”  He kissed him again, becoming more intense between his words.  “I want no touch spared.  No taste denied.”  Bard startled when a wayward hand moved inside his coat and slipped under his tunic.  “I will have me in you.  And you in me.” 

Bard had such thoughts as well, but for that timber voice to speak them too and so plainly...    “What are…?  You said not here.”

“Minor incentive in hopes you will not linger long,” he explained, his lips moving to his jaw as fingers glided past a nipple.

“Steady on!” Bard exclaimed, being quickly reminded that even the smaller rooms in Erebor could have a cavernous echo.  He pressed his lips together firmly to quiet himself while Thranduil didn’t seem the least bit phased by it.  They stared at the ceiling, waiting until the reverberation faded.  The door remained closed, so no one must have noticed. 

“Well _that_ definitely is enough reason to rule out the table in this room,” Bard muttered.  _Shame.  It is actually a fine and sturdy table._

“I rather like you being loud because of me,” Thranduil commented like it was a compliment. 

A sharp intake of breath entered Bard upon being kissed again and now this _minor incentive_ was feeling like a terrible, terrible mistake.  Thranduil’s curiosity turned his enjoyable warmth into a heat too hot.  A discomfort radiated in his gut from the tightness forming in his trousers.  He knew he had to come to his senses before this foreplay went too far.  However, against his better judgement, he found himself gripping stronger to the arm that held him.  Neither did he speak.  Verbal protest would have been swallowed by the mouth ravishing his anyway.   It had been so long since Bard last been with anyone in such intimate fashion and now he was finding it difficult to control the want.

_Perhaps the table isn’t that bad of an option.  Maybe if we stuck a chair under the door-handles and I keep my mouth shut…_

The touch over his ribs and stroke down his back felt good yet so unfair, more so when fingers trailed dangerously lower and ghosted under his small clothes to the base of his spine.  Heavens he wanted to feel him too!  He tried to separate the hooks that closed his robes with his fingers, but not a one would budge.  He could barely sneak a touch under his collar.  “Your clothes guard you well,” Bard huffed.  “Bloody puzzle!”

It was enough to still the elf’s explorations and knock sense into them both.  “Write to me when you will come.”  His eyes had never looked so dark nor his skin so flushed up to the widows peak of his fair hair.  It was so enticing a preview that when Thranduil did unravel from their embrace it did little to quell Bard’s discomfort.

Then Thranduil’s head turned toward the door abruptly.  Before Bard could question him, he too could hear the approaching boisterous voices from the hall.  Why were they coming back so early?  If he hadn’t already learned his lesson, the curse on his tongue would have been the next thing to echo through those doors.  Dain, on the other hand, didn’t mind it...

“I had no idea I hired Elflings into my personal guard!” bellowed the dwarf.  “Do you two Weeping Willows mind swaying aside so I can enter _my own_ council chamber?”

Had the Elven aids stood outside the room the entire time?  Bard couldn’t bother overthinking an embarrassed or appreciative reaction.  He used the extra seconds to wipe a hand down his face and smooth his clothing, making sure his long coat was indeed closed and covering evidence of his arousal.  Moving to stand near the hearth was added heat he didn’t need, but it circulated the blood back into his limbs.  Thranduil remained where he stood.  Whether it was ages of practice or the sound of Dain’s voice, his face had quickly sobered from their passion.  Bard would silently curse him too for his control if he hadn’t spied the blush left on the tips of those pointed ears.

The heavy door swung opened and quickly the room filled again with (too many) dwarves and men and elves.  Their arms and hands were balancing bowls of bread and meats and drink. 

“I know ya said you weren’t hungry Lord Bard,” began the burly red-bearded Dwarf-Lord as he loudly thumped several mugs to the table, “but I thought maybe if we brought the meal to you while we worked, ya change yer mind.”

“It is kind of you,” Bard accepted with as much happy manner as he could muster.  Food wasn’t exactly what he hungered, but refreshment was welcomed.  “I’ll stick with water.  I’d rather not ride back to my children hanging halfway off my saddle.”  That brought a laugh throughout the room. 

“What of you, Lord White Elf?” Dain inquired; fists on hips like he was anticipating an encounter.  “You’re welcome to forage for whatever suits yer delicate palate.”

Now that Thranduil had his alone time with Bard, the man became concerned that the elf was going to rise to the antagonizing bait.  Instead he stared down at his host with a remarkably affable demeanor.  “I must pass on your hospitable offer Lord Dain.  There are no more matters here that concern me and I must regretfully depart.  This has been a most productive trip and I thank you for the use of your accommodations.  Until my next visit, farewell.” 

The Ironfoot looked confounded by his cordialness (complete with a bow of head!) and went more silent than Bard had ever heard him.  There _was_ genuineness to his gratitude.  The Lord Dwarf did not need to know the details as to _why_. 

When Thranduil turned his gaze to Bard, he did not utter a word of parting over the commotion growing in the room.  The promise to stay until all he had to say was said had been fulfilled.  He simply placed a hand to his chest and bowed his head again.  Bard returned the gesture with a smile.  The Elven aids fell in behind him as soon as their king turned on his heel. 

Seeing his back as he walked out that door, watching the tall elf leaving him behind, didn’t cause sadness for Bard.  The emptiness he had whenever Thranduil departed from his side was there, but sad?  No.  In fact he was happy.  He knew the part of him that was missing would be waiting for him to reclaim in The Greenwood; already anticipating for the arrival of his word; surely coming up with more plans that Bard would find little reason to dispute.  The elf had bared his heart and it was beautiful.  He looked forward to letting Thranduil show him his kingdom; show Bard all of him. 

_Meleth nîn…_ , he mused silently.  How he wanted to hear that strong, beautiful voice say it again-and-again.

_To the end of my days…_

A new picture began to form in his mind; one that surprised him greatly yet it fueled him with more determination to square away his duties as soon as possible.

Like right now as The Ironfoot came aside, holding out a cup to him.  “Be more wary of that one, Lord Bard.  He normally puts up a better fight.”

Bard looked down at him quizzically as he accepted the water.  “You actually sound disappointed.”

“I am,” he answered.  “Easier to point out he’s an arse if he’s actin’ like one.”

Bard couldn’t help but laugh.  There would never be a deep bond between the pair, but at least they weren’t trying to kill each other.  Let them have their petty bickering and insults.  “I hope you don’t talk about me like that when I’m not around.”

“Of course not!” Dain exclaimed.  “Yer an upstanding man, though I question yer choice in companions.”  The way Dain said companions was that he wasn’t speaking in terms of mere friendship.  The man’s gaze was matched by one who might be only half his height, but not unable to see.  Bard wanted to maintain his privacy as well as Thranduil’s, but he wasn’t one who was going to deny it either.

“Ya sure about that one?”

“I am,” Bard said categorically, “so much so that I have a personal request to make of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since I've posted a fanfic so forgive me if I am rusty. If you have something nice to say, please leave a comment (if you're a meanie, you can just not say anything at all as your silence will say volumes). I have more chapters and other Barduil stories to post. If you like them and have a Barduil idea you might like me to try out, feel free to shout out and I'll decide if I can make a short story or long story out of it. I'll determine to make it G-rated or E-rated or whatever in between. Middle Earth-based or AU ideas acceptable, but I won't do Mpregs, car crash or amnesia storylines (I don't like them). Just forgive my slowness in writing (I'll try not to get so George R.R. Martin slow like I have in the past). And thank you online Elvish Translators for the words and sentences I needed, though for all I know somebody could have typed Bwah Blah Brah and I would have posted it in here like it was fact.


	2. Thranduil POV

Thirteen days passed since Thranduil rode away from Erebor and back to his life’s blood of The Greenwood.  There was much to occupy his time within his domain while he awaited word from Bard; unfortunately not all good.  The monstrous spiders from the south continued to creep further into his borders, their nests thick of webbing and all manors of dangers for his patrols.  It was infuriating to hear reported that while one nest was being cleared, a new set was being found, decaying and rotting with their infestation.  The moniker Mirkwood had spread so far and wide that maps branded his domain as such and most did not seem to remember it as otherwise.  Thranduil was partly responsible for letting it go on so long, choosing to look internal and not concern himself with the world beyond.  Not anymore.  It would be Greenwood once more, even if it would take decades or centuries or ages to accomplish.  He hoped Bard and his children would love his halls as much as he did, but the first step needed was to ensure that their path to them was clear and secure; a task he would oversee personally.  The Captain of the Guard did not question his involvement.  It wasn’t Tauriel’s place to question anything really, though often to his annoyance she did.  He had another assignment for her. 

“It will be good distraction,” she assured.  “Besides, I would be delighted to see his children again and join Merenor in letting our presence alone remind _Brannon nîn_ of his obligation.”

He had glared at her impertinence, but did not openly chastise her, and that only made her smug.  Formal announcement had not been made of Thranduil’s intentions to Bard nor would there be.  It would just be known by the mere fact of where his guest was staying and should, if he dared to do so publicly, show acts of affection.  Up to now he had only when they were alone.  Apparently Thranduil wasn’t as opaque as he thought.

Merenor, who normally wore the façade of the ever serious and stern scholar and caretaker in front of practically everyone, proved to be just as bad when they were alone.  Occasionally he returned from Dale with updates on Sigrid, Bain and Tilda’s education, though lately it was with their incessant inquiries to Tauriel about their home:  “What is it like?  Will there be a party?  Will we have our own rooms?  What do the Elves do for fun?  How high is the city in the trees?  How low do the caverns go?  Are there kids there?  Can someone braid my hair?  Should I make a dish?  Will the king eat it?  Will the king spar with me?  What is the king’s favorite color?”  He didn’t even have to inquire who asked what?  Sigrid, Bain and Tilda have distinct personalities and it made Thranduil contented to let them discover their answers for themselves.  It brought back memories of when Legolas was little and inquisitive about everything around him.  Children were so innocent.  Already in the times Bard had them in their company he grew so very fond of them.

As for Bard, Merenor was not as forthcoming with his details.  On more than one occasion he mentioned Bard meeting with the Dwarves from Erebor.  When Thranduil finally had questioned if the Dwarves were giving him trouble, Merenor had answered they were being most cooperative from what he could tell.  When Thranduil pressed him further on his meaning, he vaguely replied Bard was working with more fervor than he ever seen and too preoccupied to provide him a message, despite Merenor’s _generous_ offer to help him translate whatever he may want to say in Sindarin.  

" _Brannon nîn_ needs the practice,” the fawn-haired elf said impishly.

“I have known you longer than most Elves in my life, Merenor, but do not think that entitles you to be arrogant,” Thranduil cautioned.

The warning didn’t accomplish any more in deflating his attitude than the glare did with Tauriel.  When Thranduil questioned why he bothered to use the title when Bard had yet to arrive, Merenor simply answered with a knowing look, “He _is_ coming.”

How long until?  For thirteen days without word also brought thirteen nights of an empty bed to remind him he was indeed alone.  Sleep wasn’t as essential for him as other races and when it did come to him it was brief and filled with dreams he wanted to be reality, so he would retreat to the Overlooks: platforms that extended from the trees high above the earth.  There he would have the stars as his companions.  How he adored them!  Even on the bitter nights when the increasing winter clouds obscured parts of the view, he would consult them.  His mind wandered to where his son might be?  Safe he always hoped and perhaps he might follow the memories in the sky home for a visit one day, though his mind knew that time would not come to pass soon; their relationship too strained and his son needing the wilds of the world if they were to mend. 

That is when his thoughts would turn back to Bard.  It would seem silly for an immortal elf to think the hours were too long and to wish them away.  Things happened as they may; still, Thranduil requested of the white lights each night to send Bard restful slumber.  If he was awake, at least let it be from thoughts of him and what could be if only he put stop to his delay.  It had been so long since Thranduil felt such stirrings of want and passion inside him.  Control he kept for every one he was saving for Bard.  He dreamed of when the world would vanish around them.  Then he wanted to be selfish and consume all of Bard’s time and thoughts.  He wanted to be possessive and never let him leave his side.  None of this was possible forever and their time would inevitably end for responsibilities and life outside themselves, but first it had to begin and for a while he would have all he desired. 

 _Let him tremble under the strength of my touch until he falls.  Let him claim my weaknesses and use them against me until I surrender_. 

Another day, another night and repeat again...

 

* * *

 

Late on this sixteenth afternoon Thranduil marched back to the mountain forest from another outing with his rangers, one of them sounding a horn to announce their return.  The Great Gates parted to accept them and Thranduil shared in his party’s gladness to cross through them unharmed and into better comforts.  The elf felt adequately accomplished but dirty from exertion.  He continued past the stairs leading to the throne that overlooked the main hall.  There was no court to be held after all.  Instead he retreated over the stone bridges and massive walkways formed by the roots of the trees that suspended far over the rocks and waters below to the long hallway that lead to the serenity of his quarters.  A bath and a meal with his people were to be in his near future and a return to the stars once the sky darkened.  For now what light remained from the setting sun still streamed in from the open balcony in his chambers and drew his attention to the fawn-haired elf standing upon it, illuminating Merenor and the rolled slip of paper he held.  Not yet broken was the wax seal and Thranduil experienced a fresh surge of vitality to the day.

"I cannot say I approve of his choice of words to Your Lordship,” Merenor criticized, as he stepped inside to join him, “but I suppose allowances for time can be made.”  Thranduil raised an eyebrow inquisitively at how he knew the contents of his personal correspondence and Merenor quickly explained:  “He wrote it in my presence this morning and insisted I _skedaddle_ back to you with added instruction that you open it immediately.  Skedaddle… is that seriously a word?  Men and their vernacular!” 

Thranduil did not bother to reveal that Bard purposely liked to poke at Merenor’s serious nature.  He was far more absorbed in what Merenor’s _skedaddling_ rewarded.  Thranduil removed his gloves, trading them for the message, and at the scholar’s insistence he broke the seal and unfurled the paper.  The simple line written in what appeared to be haste was enough to crack the king’s face with a smirk.  Let Merenor be displeased they were not formal nor in Sindarin.  Perhaps the lover of accounts and tales wished to have been messenger of something more poetic and romantic.  To Thranduil it was more than suitable.  It was something Bard would say.  Honest and to the point.

**_Ready or not here I come._ **

“He will come tonight,” Thranduil construed softly, reading over the words once more.  He would not be cruel to send such a message and not show.

“Sooner I suspect,” Merenor added.  “I would have provided the message to you several hours ago, but the gatekeepers informed me you had long departed with the rangers.  He must have already left.  Tauriel said she would ride with him as far as the forest’s edge on the east road, which he insisted he did not need.  I sent a detail on your behalf to meet them there to escort him the remaining way.”

“I am sure he will bristle at that more,” Thranduil commented, removing the sword that hung from his waist.  Bard did not like a fuss to be made of him.

Merenor accepted the sheathed blade.  “Forgive me for taking the liberty.”

As much as Tauriel and Merenor goaded him in regards to Bard, they were considerate and loyal.  He could not find fault in this.  “You have my gratitude.”

With consideration his caretaker placed the sword upon the simple stone display stand next to its mate– that of Thranduil’s departed father.  It probably never would have occurred to Oropher that his son would one day choose a man for his bond mate.  He himself certainly never expected such a future would happen.  He wondered if he was alive today would he share the same disapproval of the other Elven Lords and Ladies of Middle Earth?  If there was an answer to his question, it would not have changed Thranduil’s course.  There was little anyone could do to make the Elvenking sway once his mind – and his heart – was set.

“I love him, Merenor.”

To say it out loud was not to convince.  There wasn’t an excess of emotion.  Only the need for someone he respected to hear it.

The face that regarded him was attentive.  “You are more **you** since you have.”

He would have made him elaborate at the strange statement but the pair’s attention were drawn to the outside at the blare of an Elven horn.  Another party had returned.  Another king was approaching.  Perhaps being away on his ranging was a blessing in disguise.  The anticipating wait had significantly shrunk.

“You must wish to bathe and change,” Merenor presumed.  “I will delay him in the King’s Hall until you are ready to receive him.”

It made sense why Merenor assumed this.  It was tradition.  Never had a visitor – welcomed or not – entered the realm of the Elvenking and beheld him in anything less than the testaments of his rule:  Positioned high above them in his throne of carved roots and antlered-remains of the honored Deer Lord of the North; his woven robes heavy and elaborate; a crown made of spines and berries from the rowan trees; rings of gold and silver adorning his fingers; within his grasp a tall staff of oak displaying a jewel of amber encaged in steel.  Yet here he stood in his room in more muted wears. No less tailored were the blacks and the grays of his long coat and leggings that tucked into the tall boots upon his feet, though the leathers were stained in earth and dried blood of spiders.  There were neither rings nor his staff at his ready.  The simple silver circlet around his head was still ornament to state his rule if his will of presence was not already enough.  But now even that seemed unnecessary.  He did not want Bard to be another being he looked down upon from his throne, at least not on their first night.  In this memory that they would make, he wanted them to be equals. 

 _He did not wish to see me in my “stag crown” anyway_.

“No, I will receive him as I am,” he stated definitely.  “My attendants have been aware for some time that Bard is to be brought to me wherever I am.”

The return of smugness was all over his friend’s face.  “How serendipitous for him that you should already be in your chambers...”

Thranduil shook his head and tried not to laugh.  “Away with you, Merenor.  Do more good on my behalf.  Make my excuses at dinner and enjoy the evening.”

With that Merenor bowed his head and left, leaving the room empty again except for Thranduil.  But tonight he would not need to leave it behind for the company of the stars and musings.  One more time he looked at the paper in his possession before pocketing it.  He would have to take advantage of what little time he had left to him.

A cool wind swept past.  The color of the darkening sky was beautiful above the trees and the distant mountain of Erebor towering over the outline of Dale, but their sight he did not wish to rival.  His plans to make the world disappear remained and they did as he closed off the view.  Besides, he had to see to the comforts of his coming guest and Men were more sensitive to the cold than Elves.  How the rooms stayed warm here were gifts of the earth and how the majestic lanterns from the walls and the ceiling kept the space alight were gifts of the stars.  He was glad for them for he wanted to see all of Bard and he all of him. 

But Thranduil knew that he wasn’t completely honest on that aspect.  There are some things he would hide for as long as he could hide them.  His glamour over the left side of his face was his illusion yet also the face he remembered and how the elf would forever see himself, not the scars that ravaged beneath.  He wouldn’t have it any other way in Bard’s memory either.  Not tonight at least.  It was a story for another day.  What is underneath hurt Thranduil as much as it would disgust Bard.  He touched his left cheek and then snapped back into the present instantly, scowling that his powers could not also fool his own touch.

He shook the thoughts from his mind and when he did his focus shifted to what he could dwell on:  being more presentable.  He sat down upon a bench in his dressing area.  Upon the table beside him he set aside his circlet before he slipped out of his soiled boots one-by-one.  Then he proceeded to remove his coat, unclasping the closure by his neck, then another and another.  But each separation occurred slower as something caught his ear, until finally his hands fixed at the edges of his now open coat when the door to his chamber closed behind him.  

Bard was no longer a dream.

“I received your note,” Thranduil said, slipping his coat from his shoulders and allowing it to fall to the floor behind him, revealing the white tunic beneath.  “You have come, yet you skulk and leer from my archway.”

“Any man watching you undress would be beguiled by the sight,” the soft voice retorted from behind.

The familiar footfalls were not soft enough for an elf, but still came from one who moved with lightness and ease.  Years on boats had him master balance and smuggling trained him to be quiet.  To have even sneaked up at this distance before Thranduil noticed was a credit to Bard.  Or did Thranduil let his guard down so much around him?   Part of it bothered the proud Elvenking to be so open.  Part of it excited him for the challenge Bard brought to his life.

Seductively Thranduil looked over his shoulder at the approaching figure.  “You are not just _any man_.” 

“You honor me,” he said, “but I demand you stop.”

Thranduil frowned with knitted brows.  “Stop?”

“Yes.”  Bard draped himself over him and encircled him with his arms.  “You are robbing me of the pleasure.”

Thranduil tilted back his head and received him; the smile still present in Bard’s lips when they touched his.  It was gentle and brief, yet being in his embrace swelled Thranduil’s heart.  It felt so right.

“What took you so long?” demanded Thranduil, firmly squeezing one of the arms over his chest.

“I promise you it was with good reason and I will tell you later,” Bard answered vaguely.

“Promise me now you will not do it again and I will ignore this slight.”

“ _Slight_!” he exclaimed with a laugh.  “How have I insulted you?”

Thranduil feigned offense and turned away his face.  “I gave you incentive before I left Dale, yet you kept me waiting sixteen days and expect me to accept it.  What do you have to say for yourself?”

Bard turned his head back.  “ _Guren linna chen cened._ ”

The Elvish words fell from Bard’s lips slowly and the nervous in his eyes looked like he was plagued by uncertainty in how he said it.  The sentiment moved Thranduil.  _How many times within those sixteen days did you practice to say that to me?  And to say those words so well?  Too bad Merenor was not present to hear it_.  Did he dare to ask Tauriel to teach him such greeting?  Or Merenor?!  The thought made Thranduil’s smile go wide.

His silence and look of mirth clearly confused Bard.  “Did I just say that wrong?  I didn’t insult you again, did I?”

“I am far from insulted,” he assured. “ _My heart sings to see you as_ _well_.”

There was more to Bard’s generosity than his words.  Not since his coronation had Bard looked so pristine.  In fact his clothes were the same as that day down to the padded cotton and dark leather of his doublet.  He was wearing his finest for him.  Thick, black hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck.  A shade of color was across his face perhaps from desire or wind burn from the cold ride.  There wasn’t a hint of stubble on his cheeks.  He had shaved and trimmed his beard too.  All this consideration for Thranduil touched him further, but he would have been just as attracted to him in this moment as the day he last saw him in Erebor in his worn coat and unruly waves. 

Bard kissed him again, now with more passion.  A hand slipped inside Thranduil’s tunic and over his chest; its palm warm but fingertips still icy from being out in the weather.  Instantly the dual reaction caused the elf to press up further into the kiss and his own hand to reach up and slide behind Bard’s neck, pressing firmly to deepen their mutual exploration.  Bard had to put a knee on the bench to keep from stumbling, and that only brought closer more of his body against Thranduil’s back.

When rough fingers wantonly caressed his nipple, Thranduil’s head drooped back to the curve of Bard’s neck.  “I am not clean,” he warned.  “I have been out all day and there wasn’t time to bathe before your arrival.” 

Their closeness made Bard’s laugh vibrate against him.  “Ridiculous!  There’s barely a speck of dirt on you.  Barely a hair out of place.”  Bard nuzzled against his temple.  “I have seen you wield your sword.  You don’t break a sweat.  I doubt you will being handled like this, though I will enjoy trying to discover what might.” 

And his search for discovery led to Thranduil’s ear.  Teeth gently nipped at his lobe.  The sensation made a blur cast over his sight as if all the lights in the room suddenly dimmed, forcing him to close his eyes to keep it from overwhelming him.  Wet warmth licked up the back of it.  His mouth kissed and sucked at its edges and tip.  Never did his hand stop beneath his tunic either.  Already he was chipping away at Thranduil under his ministrations.  A groan escaped him and the grip he had on Bard was limping.  All his touches succeeded in enflaming him.    His lasciviousness engorged the bud between his fingers.  The quickening of his heart Bard surely had to feel. 

“ _Meleth nîn..._ ,” the elf droned.

Elves could do much in their native tongues.  Some could channel the ability to heal.  Some could summon animals or forms of magic.  There were even those that could influence the Earth or others around them to bend to their wills.  Thranduil was capable of all in some fashion; however, here, he was not trying to manipulate.  It was only what he wanted to say in the moment, yet what he said or the way he said it affected Bard.  He stilled and his growing arousal now apparent as it grazed his back.  The bench was no longer ideal:  Uncomfortable and too small for them both. 

Bard was of the same mind.  “You last said to me that it was your responsibility to satisfy me.”  The breath was warm in the ear he had ravished.  “Take me to our bed.”

It stirred Thranduil below.  Was it a command?  A plea? 

Did it matter?

Thranduil broke from the arms that embraced him to turn around and pull them both up, the force throwing Bard against him.  This felt like when he had last held him in Erebor.  The same arm gripping his.  The same heavy lidded eyes regarding him as Thranduil hooked his arm around him and held him so close that he could barely raise his chest when he breathed. Bristles of hair scratched against his skin when he kissed him rough and whimpered when his tongue entered into his mouth.  Now there was finally no one to interrupt.   No reason to stop him except by Bard, who showed no signs that he wanted him to when Thranduil blindly tugged and pulled and opened his doublet, until it landed to the floor beside his own coat.  With it discarded he could now see what his hand had felt on that chest those sixteen days ago.  Like his defined arms the muscles of his stomach were taut from labors and dark hair trailed on tanned skin. His exposed flesh jumped when he ran the back of his nails down his side.  It amused him to see he was ticklish.  Some areas were marred with patches of burn marks he could guess and some old, faded scars he did not yet know how they came to be. 

“Your body is well-defined,” Thranduil stated.  He silenced Bard with his mouth before he dared say anything humble.  _I must remind myself to take you to the training grounds with your bow and observe your form in action exposed like this one day soon_.

Thranduil directed him back to their destination.  Back and back and further still until the back of Bard’s calves hit the side of his bed.  Blindly the man reached back for guidance, not wanting to take his eyes off him.  He wrestled from his boots before the elf gently pushed him back against the pillows.  Their weight sunk into the mattress when Thranduil straddled his lover.  From the elf’s point-of-view it was a lovelier vision to look down upon more than if he had welcomed from his throne.

“Our bed gives us wicked thoughts,” Bard commented, reaching for the hem of Thranduil’s tunic.  “Off with this.”

With silent consent he allowed the shirt to be lifted up, over and off.  Waist-long hair cascaded down his back.  Bard always had a fascination with his hair when they were alone, running his fingers through it lazily or pulling his head back by it when he was more ardent.  But this was the first he viewed of Thranduil’s body and eyes skimmed over him lustfully with hands soon following over the milky skin.  The touches over his abdomen were soft yet he could feel the strength in Bard’s hands when they gripped just above his hips.  Bard’s enjoyment of him heightened Thranduil’s arousal and he wanted more for them both.

“Bring your beauty closer,” Bard entreated keenly.

“A moment.”

He reached for the object wrapped in white silk from the side table.  Inquisitively Bard observed him as he unfolded the fabric, revealing a small pot.  The lid was opened and from the clear jelly inside wafted a subtle fragrance.  Blue eyes filled with tease smiled at him as he placed it back on the table.  “For later.”

Its use easily dawned on Bard.  “I thought you didn’t have time to ready for me?”

“I said for me to bathe,” he corrected, placing his hands onto the sheets.  His hair fell over his shoulders to curtain them both when he leaned over him.  Feathery strands grazed Bard’s bare skin and a delightful noise caught in his throat.  “I have had that ready for us for some time.”

“Wicked,” Bard repeated with a grin.  His lover took hold of silky strands, fingers streaming through it before enclosing it within a fist.  Gently he tugged and lowly spoke.  “Now, closer.” 

Feeling skin on skin, wrapping him into embrace and being held in return, was electrifying.   Hands massaged and slid over areas never before touched by the other.  Teeth nipped and tongues tasted and lips kissed.  Bard jerked back the elf’s head and his mouth gave much attention down his neck.  It was rousing until suddenly Bard bit the soft patch above his collarbone.  Thranduil hissed from the shock.  The mark would redden and bruise.  

“I’m sorry,” said Bard.  It stung when his lips covered it. 

Dark eyebrows rose, accessing his tone.  “No, you’re not.”

Bard nipped his chin and grinned.  “No, I’m not.”

With a roll of his hips down onto Bard’s confined erection the elf elicited a groan from his partner.  “Neither am I.”

Teasing was fun but it was not what Thranduil meant to give.  Neither was letting his emotions spark him into overdrive and risk savaging him.  It was about seduction and pleasure.

And love.

The teasing had made him very aware of Bard’s need.  He blindly reached down between them and looped his fingers into the waistband of Bard’s trousers.  “Tell me Bard, do you desire my hands or my mouth?”

Gripped so tightly Thranduil could feel Bard’s pulse hasten.  Slowly he loosened his hold as a strange question filled his gaze.  “I didn’t think you…”

“You think I find the act beneath me?” Thranduil shook his head and slowly began to unlace the fabric.   “No taste denied, remember?” 

The question in his eyes vanished and Bard lovingly tucked the hair that he had been holding behind Thranduil’s ear.   Then he caressed the left side of Thranduil’s cheek.  Habit made the elf quickly stop what he was doing and grab for his wrist.  Despite the sudden move, he did not take Bard’s hand away.  Bard could not see his scars nor would he feel them with his glamour in place.  He cursed himself for what had to seem like irrational alarm.  He eased his grip and tried to rub reassuring circles with his thumb.

“There are many mysteries to you,” Bard commented, pulling away his hand.  He smiled.  “I suspect I will find something to love in all of them.”

It took a lot to render Thranduil speechless.  Strangely, despite all the thoughts that his scars were hideous to look upon, he could not voice argument to his lover’s words.  He would not remove his glamour.  This was still not the appropriate time.  However, it did make him consider the possibility that when there was, Bard might ease the pain.

Curiously he watched as Bard untied the binding from his hair.  Dark waves came loose.  He swept back Thranduil’s long tresses and proceeded to gather them at the nape of his neck, tying them tight. 

“Your mouth,” he finally answered.

Thranduil’s smile was wider for more than just the paid consideration.  Bard would surely never bore him.  “Lay back.”

Bard complied; the pillows keeping him propped up enough for Thranduil’s liking.  While he climbed off of him, never did he leave his side.  Bard raised his hips to help him slide the trousers and small clothes down and off his legs.  Nothing about Bard was displeasing.  His member was flushed and already weeping from the head.  If this was how his lover looked from giving so little, he would let Bard request anything of him just to see more.

Tracing up Bard’s thigh, Thranduil pushed his legs further apart.  He situated himself between them and wrapped his hand around his shaft.  Involuntarily or not Bard thrust into his hold.  He inhaled sharply and his eyes shut when a thumb rubbed over the slit.  Even with his hair bound it touched Bard’s leg when Thranduil lowered his head and licked up the vein.

He took him into his mouth, taking him as far as he could.  It felt heavy and hot.  Why Bard ever questioned him in the first place of performing this act on him seemed ludicrous, especially giving how he was responding to it.  Did he think he was giving up some sort of power in doing so?  Bard was the one sounding rather vulnerable; his breathes ragged when he swallowed him back or hitched when Thranduil would take some of the warmth away and let what remain gently glide past his tongue and teeth before taking him all again.  When Thranduil could taste the hints of what wanted to come, he make a noise to let Bard know how delectable he was, and Bard would lose the hold on his tongue and moan loudly before suddenly clamping down as if he letting some secret slip.  Thranduil very much did not feel like he was in the position of servitude, though if Bard still saw it that way, he didn’t mind it either.  It made Thranduil imagine what it would be like to have Bard’s mouth around his member.  He suspected Bard would be exceptional at making him come undone in this manner for his touches and kisses alone were intoxicating.

As he hardened more he could feel the tension building in Bard’s legs, almost to the point they began to quake.  The elf glanced up.  Hazel eyes met his, heavy lidded yet focused.  One of his arms rested above his head, while the other seemed to have gotten lost behind the pillows.  A thin veil of perspiration glistened on his abdomen, which sunk inward with each deep movement.  _Heavens he is so enticing stretched out in this way._ But soon the only noise he could hear was his swallows and Bard’s breaths and moans being choked back.  Bard was holding out as if he had changed his mind and he was no longer touching Thranduil.  He could not have that.

The elf pulled away and wiped the trail of saliva from his lips.  “Come if you like.”

“No, not without you,” he protested hoarsely, looking agitated from the loss. 

“I can make you come more than once,” he assured, taking his now wet member back in hand.

He sat up and reached down to stop Thranduil from moving.  “I rather experience it together.”

 _I want you_ , Thranduil immediately thought and released him.  “All right, if you won’t come at least be as loud as you like.  You don’t have to worry about anyone hearing you here.  No one is listening to you this time except me.” 

“Still implying that I am loud?!” Bard complained rather vociferously.

He crawled back up to Bard and kissed him hard, wanting him to taste the traces of his own sex.  “I certainly would like you to be louder.” 

Not having given or received passion since before his lover even existed in this world was rekindling his own needs.  Wanting him more now, Thranduil dipped his fingers into the awaiting jar upon the side table; a line of the slick liquid dripping back in as he removed them.  The anticipation made Thranduil bite his lower lip.  He pushed Bard back.  Thranduil remained hovered over him and rested his coated fingers against Bard’s entrance and looked into his eyes with a silent question.  Bard nodded his consent.

Gently he pushed a finger into him, capturing another throaty growl within the man.  Bard wrapped an arm around Thranduil back and shuddered as the digit disappeared further inside.  The tightness gripped back at him.  The feel had his mind wanting to skip three steps ahead, yet it also hindered his search to find his target. “Relax,” the deep voice whispered, gradually pulling out then back in again.   Inducing pain was not his goal.  He wanted Bard to cry out for the right reason.  When he pushed in two fingers – pressing deep against his walls – Bard did exactly that.

Short nails dug into Thranduil’s back.  He ceased his action, giving Bard a moment to adjust to the extra intrusion.  “Are you all right?”

Breath was heavy and eyes fluttered open.  To his delight Bard shamelessly pushed down onto his fingers.  “Do that again…”  Fulfilling his request he pushed more and more, until hooking into the spot that made Bard whine, “Thranduil!” 

He found his mark and felt his own cock twitch from the sound of his name.  Stretching him should be a delicate matter but he found himself slipping in a third finger as soon as it could accommodate.  Bard was already arching off the mattress.  “You delight me so.”

“And you are maddening me,” Bard said cuttingly.  “Stop tormenting the both of us and get inside me.”  His moist hand slid into the confines of Thranduil’s leggings and gripped him hard. The sudden squeeze felt so good that Thranduil cried out sharply, surprising them both.  It was just his hand!  Just a single touch!

Bard started rubbing him earnestly and Thranduil’s fingers within him went completely still.  It made Bard rakishly grin.  “Louder _is_ better.”

Thranduil had enough smugness from all his closest confidantes.  Fingers swiftly removed from inside Bard whose face contorted at the immediate loss.  The elf removed his lover from him and then the last of his clothes.  He lifted Bard’s knee, who was more than willing to hook an ankle around the elf’s waist.  Bard collected more of the liquid from the side table and proceeded to slick Thranduil’s cock for him.  The second his hand moved away Thranduil positioned himself and entered him.  He pushed so far into him in one go that they both almost collapsed from the sensation.

Haste was not the best option after all.  Patience had its purpose.  They both looked at each other and though neither of them said anything Thranduil shared Bard’s silent plea for a moment.  There was something to be said about just reveling in being connected.  It was even worth noting that they both understood in that moment that Thranduil was right about what he said in Erebor:  There would have to be more than a single experience shared and much to discover. 

Steadying his breathing, Thranduil started into a slow rhythm.  The same spot inside Bard that he found with his fingers he now drove into and continued to drive into as he increased.  The wet noise of their connections only added to what escaped them.  Bard’s cries were certainly sweet.  They were only for him.  Disappearing more and more into him increased Thranduil’s own want and now he couldn’t understand why they had waited so long.  Having him only this first time made him want him again already.

However his rhythm came to a sudden stop when, before he could even think to react, Bard shot up and rolled Thranduil onto his back.  From his saddled position the look staring down at him was not triumph (not fully anyway) but one of desire.  It was astonishing to witness.  “I love the way you please me.  Let me return some of it to you.”

Bard sunk his hips down upon Thranduil’s erection and his eyes closed from the flooding pain and pleasure.  Almost like a sensual dance he started to slowly rock, his head dropping low as he groaned and whispered his name.   Did he want to just savor the sensation of Thranduil being inside him?  It certainly was hardening Thranduil and he yearned for more with each heated touch. 

Thranduil could hear and feel his own breaths becoming chaotic.  He had to touch him and so he ran his hand up his thigh.  The muscle twitched like he shocked him.  “Bard…”

“No,” he protested.  “Call me my other name.  Let me hear your tongue.”

Thranduil smiled and guided Bard’s hands to rest on his chest.  “ _Meleth nîn_.”

It gave Bard the enticement to push himself up and settle back down.  The inner heat cocooned Thranduil – deep and snug.  He meant it when he would let Bard have anything he asked; more the benefit to them both sharing the control.  His head was heavy against the pillow and his back arched whenever his lovers tremors wracked him.

“ _Le melin…_ ”

He spoke and spoke words of love in the softness of his Elven language, sparking his lover to repeatedly connect back with him after each separation whether he understood them or not.  Bard took his own member in his hand and his eyes, watery and darkened, no longer would look at him as he rode closer to his own completion.  The elf met each of his movement with one of his own, stealing every sound and sight he could for his memories, never wanting to forget a single detail of any of their encounters.  The closer Bard neared his orgasm the more his limbs weakened.  He couldn’t maintain the pace on his own and that’s when Thranduil gripped Bard’s hips and shifted himself higher, entering him harder and with greater purpose.  “ _Come for me_ , _Meleth nîn_.” 

Arms tightly hugged the elf’s shoulders as he thrust up into him a few more times.  Bard cried out, spilling his seed between them.  The heat on his abdomen triggered him to thrust hard one last time and fill Bard with his own.

They fell back together, coming down from their high in pants and gasps.  How long they remained that way in wordless company he could not say.  The white silk wrapping was close at hand and served to wipe the cum between them.  Eventually Thranduil softened and pulled out from inside him, causing Bard to whimper once more.  Insatiable as it sounded, his state said otherwise.  Wisps of Bard’s hair clung to his face and neck.  Swollen was his lips and dark in color.  There were red marks and scratches here-and-there; some he wasn’t sure what he did to make them.  Thranduil could only sum with the sting from his back and strands of hair that escaped the tie that his appearance was the same disarray to a staring Bard.  The bath that eluded him earlier was still in order.

The kisses they shared were more languid while they rested against one another.  He wasn’t ready to let Bard go yet, enjoying his chest resting slightly upon his.  

“You… are nothing like I imagined you,” Bard commented.

Thranduil regarded him.  “Oh…?”

" _Oh?!_ ” Bard repeated, chuckling at his choice of response.  He brushed his fingers over one of Thranduil’s dark eyebrows.  “ _Oh_ , you are better than my imagination.  And I learned I _can_ make you sweat.”

 _Have your boast_ , Thranduil thought happily.  It had been long since he smelled of sex and held a lover afterwards in his arms.  _Let it all linger a while longer_.  _The Baths will still be where they are in the morning._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all those who are sticking with my story. I had a lot of fun writing this up. Continue to leave kudos or comments if you have something nice to say. You know, motivation for me to continue writing and all that. I have one more chapter to go (significantly smaller than this one) before I post my next story.


	3. Thranduil POV

The first true use of his bed in weeks should have resulted in a lengthy and deep slumber; labors and carnal exertions leaving him spent under his sheets.  Yet the lights were dim within his chambers and the sky outside still dark when Thranduil sluggishly awakened from his sleep.  Sharing a bed again didn’t mean his defenses were totally gone, and the loss of heat from behind and movement disturbed him no matter how considerately minimal his lover may try to be.  The elf quietly rolled onto his back to find Bard dressed in his tunic.  There was something about the man wearing his clothes that Thranduil would find tempting if Bard was not across the room; back at the start of their intimate journey… collecting his coat. 

Bard grimaced on the way down and rise turned to near collapse on the way up, dropping him to the bench with a foul cuss under his breath.  Pleasure had its side effects, especially so soon after.  Bard seemed to have forgotten.  For leaving him it seemed to Thranduil like an appropriate punishment, petty as it sounded. “Did I break you?”

Bard’s head snapped up in his direction with a sour look.  “Ha, and might I add, ha.”

The elf looked ruefully at the distance between where he lies and where Bard sits.  “The hour is late.”

“Or early.”  Bard’s expression turned into an apologetic smile.  “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“But you did,” Thranduil said when he sat up.  The sheets pooled low around his nakedness and he tugged the binding from his hair, preferring the freeness of it.  “I wish you here so no one can take you from me, yet you distract  **yourself** from our bed.” 

“My thoughts are  _still_ with you,” he assured, pulling something from the pocket.  “That is why I needed to get this if I am truly going to continue lying beside you.” 

Prepared this time Bard rose again without fail and left the coat behind in his place.  He returned to his side, coming to sit at the edge of the bed.  Revealed in his hand was a small leather pouch.  He was about to open it when he hesitated, changing his mind.  “Here,” Bard said, holding it out to him.  “Since you are awake enough to mock my state, you can give it to me.”

Thranduil said nothing and watched him curiously.  It is a strange thing to bring a gift meant for one’s self.  It sounded a jest.  However, there was seriousness in the man’s eyes that accompanied his soft smile.  It was stranger still and one Thranduil could not deduce why?  The answer was being handed to him and thus he took the pouch.  It was light yet something was definitely inside.  He stretched the opening and dumped the contents into his palm.

_A ring..._

Thoughtfully he turned it over.  The band was thick and silver and nothing graced it:  no etchings; no jewels; no stones.  But the design with its knotted curves was familiar.  It looked almost Elven.  Its meaning confirmed the moment he looked back to that determined face.

“You wanted to know why it took me so long to get here,” began Bard.  “I requested the Dwarves fashion it for me.  Dain tried to offer me a whole slew of rings for my choosing from Erebor’s treasure stores:  bejeweled monstrosities and heirlooms of  _so-and-so-now-dead_ .  I didn’t want someone else’s memories.  I wanted the ones I had at the moment I last saw you in Erebor:  The starlight always present in your eyes when you looked at me.  How it felt to be surrounded in your embrace.  I never wanted to forget what it was like to hear you call me  _Meleth nîn_ for the first time and in that instance know I wanted to be entirely yours.  They are as simple as this ring and it is as strong as my love.”

Beautiful words, genuine and heartfelt, yet the desired effect was not what Bard probably had in mind.  Guilt hit Thranduil.  Ages of time had allowed the elf to observe and learn many things in this world.  In better days he had attended many festivities and celebrations of the other northern kingdoms and witnessed the customs of Men and the importance of their traditions.  Now the man he loves sat before him with a band of promise  _he himself_ provided and honoring  _Thranduil_ with words of love.  Bard appeared not to be bothered in the least of throwing away ceremony and blessings.  “What will your people think of you displaying your commitment to me by such a simple band alone?  Your children?”

The same thoughts clearly had already cross Bard’s mind for he did not hesitate with response:  “I prefer the lack of pomp and circumstance, quietly committing to you.  You said having me here declares me  _Brannon nîn_ in the eyes of your people.  Wearing that ring I suspect will state much of the same to my own.  Might be out of the norm for it to be an elf – a male elf at that – but does not choosing the Elvenking fill whatever political or social responsibility you suddenly seem to be musing about in that head of yours?”  Bard yanked his hair for effect. 

“As for my children, we have very big supporters… and  _troublemakers_ ,” he continued; followed by an overdramatic sigh.  “Sigrid said she knew this would happen before I did and enjoys holding this revelation over me.  Beware of her womanly intuitions.  Bain said he is happy that finally the boys outnumber the girls.  He is often under his sisters’ thumbs, so whatever trouble is going to arise from that statement I have yet to guess.  And ever since that day you scooped Tilda onto your elk, she has been taken with you.  When I got that ring and sat Tilda down to tell her my intent, she immediately started working on a gift of her own, because, and I quote, ‘I’m meant to be his princess!  Not you!’”

Imagining her innocence and implying her father – the Slayer of Smaug and King of Dale – was a  **princess** to the Elvenking caused Thranduil to laugh emphatically.  Bard was taken aback by his delight but quickly joined in.  “Laugh all you want, Elf!  I’m going to unleash them on you when they get here and see how well you handle them.”

Finally he understood what Merenor meant when he said that Thranduil had become more himself since Bard.  When was the last time he felt this light?  This moment; the ones before; the ones to come after… All of them confirmed why he would not search for regrets from letting Bard into his life; giving into his love.  Let whatever challenges come and test them.  He would wave them away in the same headstrong manner he was accustomed and battle when absolutely necessary.  And when he faltered and waned from his own shortcomings, let Bard take up the fight.   When their laughter subsided Thranduil took Bard’s hand.   “I shall care for them as they were my own and will have to pledge to be Tilda’s loyal confidante in exchange for her gift.”  He slipped the band on Bard’s finger and kissed it.  “But I must beg her forgiveness for allowing my heart to belong to another.”

Bard entwined his hand with Thranduil’s.  “Thank you.”

“For?”

“For waiting,” he answered sincerely.  “For being the one to bestow on me a title for the second time in my existence:   King in Dale then; Your Love here tonight.”  He looked down at the tunic he had borrowed from him.  “For wearing clothes I could actually take off you for a change!”

Thranduil used their grasp to lead him further onto his bed to lie beside him once more.  “I won’t be able to make it easy for you every time.  But I suppose I could show you how to remove my robes the next time I am in them.”

“Next time you are in them sounds promising,” he commented, caressing over the elf’s side.  “Or I could just rip them off.”  His eyes leered down Thranduil’s form.  “Or maybe you should be exactly as you are now whenever I am around and save me the time and your tailors the effort of repairs.”

Thranduil pulled his head away when he tried to kiss his mouth. “You are not as witty as you think you are.”

Bard looked back at him with a grin.  “Who said I am joking?”

“I do love you Bard,” the Elvenking said in response as he leaned in close and nudged him back into the mattress.  “I will let you sleep and wake you for a bath and a meal in the morning before I show you my home.  But first I will ensure this time my love renders you incapable of leaving our bed again tonight.”

Bard accepted him, widening his legs to let Thranduil rest his weight on top of him.  “Then tomorrow you will be mine.”

_Tomorrow seemed even more exciting by those six little words._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it for my first tale. I know this was a short chapter, but I honestly thought it was as long as it exactly needed to be. While I hoped for more overall comments, I am still very happy with what I have done and I am especially thankful to all of you out there that hit up my story and left kudos and kind words. Please give my next short story a view once it is up. It's actually the first one I started before I got distracted with the ideas for this one, and I am very excited about it as I do not believe anyone here has done it before.


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